


Finders Keepers

by gratefulsugar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Consensual Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Pianist Draco Malfoy, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-War, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley Bashing, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22691725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gratefulsugar/pseuds/gratefulsugar
Summary: If you lose something, it could turn out to be another's treasure. Ron Weasley leaves an intimate belonging behind in the library only for Draco to find it. Draco is certain this naughty photograph of Granger is something Weasley hadn't meant to forget, but he's pretty glad the fool did. He wants to keep it for himself, but he'd rather take his chances and reach out to Granger. Slight Ron-bashing but not really.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 48
Kudos: 339





	1. Chapter One

**AN** : 8th year redeemed Draco trope, with a sexual twist. This story contains mature, smutty content and crude language. This is strictly a Dramione fic but there will be platonic Drarry moments, which I’ve never really written before, as well as slight Ron Weasley bashing I think. I can’t actually tell if I’m Ron-bashing. I love Ron and everything but he’s easy to imagine as a terrible boyfriend, at least a terrible boyfriend for Hermione. You’ve been officially advised.

 **Finders Keepers**  
**Chapter One**  
-o-

_March 13 th, 1999_

It’d been a long, grueling couple of terms so far at Hogwarts. It was hard for Draco to imagine that around this time two years ago he was practically on the brink of death. His health had been beyond deteriorated, not only from the lack of sleep and severe anxiety over his looming task, the weight of guilt but also because Harry Potter had managed to hit him with a curse that he’d never even heard of before. Yes, although he’d been healed to good as new after (except for the scarring), he’d still always remember the day his forever arch-rival had almost succeeded in killing him. What was ever more ironic was that same, wily git willingly saved his life on the day of the big battle _and_ he’d spoken for Draco at his trial preceding the war.

Draco still, honestly couldn’t believe it all. It seemed so surreal – he should have been _locked_ away in Azkaban with Lucius. Regardless he was very grateful to be there, grateful to continue his education alive and well. He’d even told Potter so when he somehow worked up the nerve to apologize before the winter holiday. He’d completely caught him off guard; said thank you, that is was him, Harry, who’d saved his life and that Draco was now in his debt. The sable-haired Gryffindor looked genuinely shocked for a second – mouth hung ajar in befuddlement, his round glasses almost falling off as he’d awkwardly stumbled and adjusted them. He’d even grinned as he would to one of his own friends and actually _shook_ Draco’s hand. It was a strange feeling, and an unfamiliar but much needed catharsis washed over and renewed the both of them.

Draco was sat in a chair at his usual table in the back of the library, contemplating all of this for a moment as he readied himself to work on his Transfiguration essay. True, he hadn’t spoken to Potter much since then but he’d assumed that over Christmas, the war-hero had told his faithful comrades of Draco’s uncharacteristic show of appreciation, his apology. Not that he would ever actually want to be _friends_ with him and his lot but even still, it felt nice to be a little less hated.

That day Potter had also revealed that it hadn’t even been him, per say, that’d saved his life for it was Hermione Granger who’d requested they fly back on their brooms to rescue Draco from the fiendfyre in the now, unusable Room of Hidden Things. Draco wasn’t surprised, of course. That was simply in the witch’s nature – a trait he’d never possessed for he was always a slithering coward, through and through, although he didn’t want to cower away any longer. He’d grown since then. Seriously, he’d thought the world had gone topsy-turvy, for in no other universe would he have ever had the bollocks, nor the _sense_ to let go of his hatred towards the famed Wizard Who Lived.

Well, it'd turned out that particular wizard had let go of _his_ hatred for Draco, at least enough to show up to support him at his trial. Yes, Granger had been there too alongside him. The both of them had stood up and vouched for his bravery, yet Draco wasn’t sure that’s what it’d ever been. He’d never felt brave, in those instances. He’d felt absolutely terrified, felt he was a blithering fool but he was glad that somehow his actions in those moments at the manor on Easter had bought them all more time.

Speak of the proverbial devils – there Potter was now, striding across the way with his scruffy, weasel sidekick, Ron Weasley. Potter had a large tome in his hands as they headed over to the table in the aisle beside Draco’s and settled in. They never seemed to notice him, for behind the shelves and amongst the stacks of books Draco was well-hidden, secluded. He wasn’t about to go over and say hello or anything, especially since he still felt a mild contempt for Weasley, no matter what they’d been through, or had witnessed together. He remained working on his essay instead but couldn’t help but hear just about every bit of the Gryffindor’s conversation.

“Like I said, we’re not staying for long, just need to make some notes and then we’ll get on our way,” Harry uttered to Ron quietly, lazily as he opened the book and trifled through the pages for what he was looking for. Draco squinted between the shelves and peeped Weasley restlessly staring around the library, making sure no one was listening in. It appeared he had something on his mind, something he wanted to talk about with his best mate. Ron didn’t see Draco and the Slytherin tried to get back to his essay. The probability of the red-head having anything remotely interesting to say was slim.

“Look Harry, I’ve been thinking…”

Harry glanced wearily at his friend’s ears as they immediately turned bright pink. Ron was never good at putting into words how he felt. “Yes?”

Ron took a deep breath, “Well, I’m pretty sure I’m going to cut things off with Hermione,” Harry stopped what he was writing and looked Ron in his eyes.

“That’s what you really want?” he queried, his brows raised skeptically.

“It’s just that Hermione is sort of, you know she’s been really distant, I mean you saw how it was at Christmas,” he waved his hands in the air for good measure, “And we both know that I did _not_ have a great birthday… I don’t know Harry. I think she’s planning on breaking up with me soon anyway so, maybe it’s just time to…” he trailed of sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck and shrugging.

“Don’t tell me you just want to break it off with her before _she_ gets the chance to,” sniped Harry, but he’d seen this coming. It’d been bound to happen, one way or another. Hermione and Ron just… didn’t fit, so to say. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but between the heated disagreements, hurtful words thrown around and the bouts of screaming that’d occasionally transpired… it’d been _really_ bad. Ron hadn’t been the same since Fred and all – none of them had. Hermione and Ron had never been further away from each other.

“No! Of course not,” Ron’s face deepened beet red, “Listen I don’t exactly want it but I don’t feel like I have a choice at this point Harry,” he sighed dejectedly. “We used to be good for each other, before the war, _during_ the war but… not now, not anymore.” Ron seemed like he might cry and Harry nodded sadly, knowingly.

“Shh!” came the sudden hushing of the wiry old scholar in the portrait behind them, “No idle chit-chatting,”

“Oh stuff it,” Ron mumbled, but ceased their discussion nonetheless and let Harry finish up his note-taking.

Draco had been more surprised than he’d have expected, hearing about the woes of the Golden Trio. He could see right through the Weasel’s shite. The fact that he wanted to be the one to break up with Granger before she did was positively priceless. ‘After everything, really, some Gryffindor _he_ is,’ Draco thought. ‘The bloke can’t even take a proper blow,’ he re-dipped his quill and pressed it to his parchment, etching down a few inches.

He kind of understood it though; after years of surveying their friendship from afar, Granger and Weasley – as a couple – didn’t make much sense. Everyone knew of their supposed feelings for each other, it was rather obvious to anyone with eyes, yet if one were to really take a good hard look, they’d see that the two were _not_ made for each other… Once upon a time, Draco would be laughing at their expense but not now, not after what he’d seen his deranged aunt do to Granger, after _all_ of it. In spite of himself he felt particularly bad for them, but these things happen and from what he’d just heard it was probably for the best.

After a painstaking forty minutes Harry began putting away his things and grabbed the book he’d borrowed to return to the shelf. “You comin’ Ron?” asked Harry, humor in his tone. Ron had fallen asleep with his head in his arms over the desk. He perked up, yawned and made to follow. “One thing I can say, is at least you and Hermione will stay friends,”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because I doubt she’d want to leave this all on a lousy note, don’t you think?”

“I hope that’s true, Harry. I wouldn’t want us to go on with our lives, constantly hating each other. It just wouldn’t be right,”

That’d been the last of what Draco could make out before the rag-tag duo disappeared beyond his vicinity. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d held in. Without the nuisance that was Potter and Weasley’s presences he could better relax and work more efficiently. It was like a cloud that’d been over his head had finally dissipated to clear skies.

Once he was satisfied with the first draft of his essay he gathered his belongings and swung his black bag over his shoulder. As Draco went to pass by where the Gryffindors had sat, something askew caught his eye and he stopped. There on the chair that Weasley had previously occupied was quite clearly, one of the prat’s texts. Draco picked it up, “Ah,” it was the Charms book Flitwick assigned them that year. It might be a rather kind thing for him to do, if he’d returned this to Weasley despite their differences. It could be his one and only opportunity to ice over old wounds, perhaps. Not that Draco wanted to be friends with him, he had to reiterate to himself.

Curiosity won over Draco and he casually skimmed the pages inside, seeing if Weasley had written any interesting notes in the margins, or doodles maybe. He’d only been planning to look for a tiny second, assuming there’d be nothing to even find when a piece of parchment, no a photograph, fell out from the middle and onto the tops of his shiny, black shoes. Draco blinked down at it for a moment, unable to comprehend but then bent forward to grasp it.

When he saw the subject of the picture, the nature, the _variety_ of it, he couldn’t lift his jaw back up from the floor. Without his usual cool air of indifference Draco found himself hastily looking around for any rubberneckers but thankfully no one near seemed to be paying him any mind. His feet moved of their own accord; he was hiding with purpose this time, hunched standing behind the stacks where the portrait of the old scholar was hanging (though Draco made sure the man’s unwelcome eyes were unaware of just _what_ he’d found).

The temperature of Draco’s body rose higher and higher as he drank in every detail; he felt his cheeks, his skin grow unfathomably hot. The contraband shook between his quaking fingers, his thighs lightly trembling beneath him as a searing blaze ignited the blood inside his stiffening groin.

Hermione Granger, the overachieving, bossy little swot he’d known half his life – and now decorated war-heroine – was in a moving photograph. However, this wasn’t your typical photo, no. Oh by gods, this was _so_ much more, unreasonably so. It was unfair, just how good, how _delectable_ Granger looked half-naked.

Inconspicuously, Draco peered around again to see if anyone was watching. The last thing he needed was to get caught mucking about anywhere with _this_. He took one last, long look at it, biting his lip libidinously. He was afraid he might never get to see it again, but stowed it safely in the inside-pocket of his cloak and grabbed Weasley's book.

The students his age that’d returned after the war were now considered eighth years. The eighth years were granted the privilege to remain within their respective houses, yet were each given their own residences, all located somewhere around the four common rooms. Each living quarter was rather large; there was the bedchamber, a study area with a fireplace, couch and desk, and a fully functional washroom in every single one. They were allowed to decorate it however they wished as well, which was a nice touch. It was almost as if they had their own flats, except for the lack of a kitchen. That was one accommodation they were not permitted, something that Draco had wished for since he hated showing his face in the Great Hall.

Once in his private living quarters, Draco threw his bag on the desk and went straight to his room where he sat down on the bed and pulled out the explicit, moving photograph of Granger.

Well, it wasn’t necessarily explicit. Actually, the witch had _great_ taste. She was dressed up all 1940’s pin-up style. Yes, he’d seen glimpses of lingerie like this before – this kind was extra saucy, with her gartered thigh-highs and darker-hued ensemble. She had on a sheer, black brassiere that gave him a generous view of the pretty nipples beneath. Her breasts were on the smaller side but so full and perky. He liked that. The usual owl’s nest that took home upon her head was tamed, brushed down neatly into a long, sleek mane with the front pinned up and out of her face. Granger twirled herself about flirtatiously in the tiny, high-waist skirt she sported. As she turned, the sensual, slender curve of her back formed a prominent dip that led up to her round, bouncy bum and Draco couldn’t be sure if the once so innocent girl (in _his_ eyes) was even wearing any knickers. He could see the smile of her arse cheeks peeking out from under the skirt, could see how _soft_ she looked.

Draco let out a shuddering breath, almost choking for air as he ran a hand through his hair. Slytherin’s pants, he was bothered. He knew what he had to do but damnit he didn’t want to surrender this beauteous bit – it was _his_. He’d found it, after all. What if he'd kept it forever and no one ever knew... but no that wasn’t the way to go about this. He’d get in trouble for having it sooner or later and he’d do better at holding onto his dignity if he’d returned the picture of Granger. It was going to be an all-around uncomfortable situation for everyone involved but still, Draco would try to make this as painless as possible.

It was kind of hysterical to him… in his earlier years he would have taken this photo and come up with a despicable plan to humiliate his school-yard enemies. He wouldn’t do something like that now, of course. Not only would he violate his probation if he did anything hazardous during his time here back at Hogwarts but Draco considered bullying and petty drama beneath him now. It wasn’t worth it, and doing horrible, mean things to people for practically no reason just didn’t sit right with him anymore. It’d make him sick to do something like that to Granger, after the Drawing Room floor, her blood, after… after this photograph.

He gazed back down to Hermione’s warm, coquettish smile, her charming eyes and adorable dusting of freckles and Draco Malfoy found himself one-hundred percent, completely and utterly smitten. He’d be lying if he said that all these years he’d really genuinely hated her. It just wasn’t the truth. It hadn’t been hate, no. He’d harbored a secret, livid envy of her, for she’d surpassed him and everyone else in all things pedantic. The attention she’d got for her grades, for her consistent participation and well-roundedness had made him highly disgruntled. If the facts of the matter weren’t enough already, the handful of Crucios his father had bestowed to Draco for being beaten by a muggleborn at every turn had been some of his _favorite_ memories. 

So because of all that, Draco had lashed out at Granger whenever he’d had the chance, though naturally, she always had something smart to say to try to get him to shove off. Not to mention she’d been Potter’s best lass, another reason he’d had to despise her.

He definitely, definitely didn’t despise her anymore, and Draco wondered wistfully just exactly what she thought of him now – probably nothing very good. It pained him to think on that for too long. At least before the holiday, he’d apologized to Potter, had thanked him. Draco hoped he was right about him telling his companions about their amiable encounter during the break and that Granger might take it all into consideration when he decided to return what was rightfully hers. Weasley certainly didn’t deserve that picture anymore, right? Draco felt the bastard was a fool, for fucking up what he’d had with the witch. How could he let someone like that go? She was so above his league it was tragic, in Draco’s opinion.

Draco didn’t want to approach Weasley with this, it wouldn’t end up well, he knew it… _and_ this photograph frankly wasn’t any of Potter’s business, so he wasn’t going to either of them. There was only one choice here. Although exceedingly hesitant about the idea, Draco was unmistakably interested to see what Hermione Granger would do, what she would say and how she would act, once he’d handed her back a piece of herself she’d thought only one pair of eyes would see.

-o-

 **AN** : Look, I hope this fic isn’t completely terrible and that you’ve enjoyed it so far. Let me know what you think in a review! This is yet another WIP (I’m notorious for this) but expect another chapter within the next week or so. Thank you so much for reading my mediocre fanfiction, you rule! Cheers :0)


	2. Chapter Two

**AN** : I am astounded by the amount of response I got! Thank you so much for the follows and reviews, that all seriously means the world to me. It can be just the thing I need sometimes to help keep the motivation juices flowing.

I know this story has a lot of cliché aspects to it (Hermione and Ron break-up, 8th year, Draco being uncharacteristically nice) but I did what I had to do to fit the story the way I want it. I hope regardless, you can still find enjoyment in reading this fic. Thanks again.

Also I forgot to mention in the first chapter that I don't own anything and I'm not getting paid to write this. J.K. Rowling owns it all and I worship her.

**Finders Keepers**  
 **Chapter Two**  
-o-

_March 14th_ , _1999_

It was Friday night around seven, full moon large and white in the twinkling ink sky. Most of the students at Hogwarts were getting some much needed down-time after a hefty week of school-work. The fifth years had their OWLs soon and not only did the seventh years have their NEWTs coming up in a few, fleeting months but the eighth years would be taking the exams as well, which they were very much entitled to.

Hermione couldn't _wait_ , for her life after Hogwarts to begin. She'd been ecstatic to return at the beginning, sure but she was over nineteen years old now, would be twenty once autumn rolled around… Yes, she knew by graduation she'd finally be ready to leave her beloved academia and start her career at the Ministry straight away.

So many memories here, amazing memories, horrific memories… and now recently there'd been some not so great instances. She and Ronald had been drifting further apart from each other and she had to admit, at this point she fully welcomed the moments she didn't have to answer to anybody, to answer to a boy and his whims. What about _her_ whims? He'd long dismissed her ideas, her emotions. She was bloody tired of it and felt she at least deserved someone who genuinely still cared about the things she had to say, someone who could actually keep up with her in an intellectual discussion, who _listened_. Was it such a crime, to want that? It certainly didn't help matters that Ron had no self-control over his anger. He couldn't keep his temper in check or remain level-headed when things got shaky.

And she'd understood it all, she _had_. Hermione had been extremely patient with him, but it got to be too much sometimes. It wasn't like they could just hold hands and it'd be all better again no, it wasn't that simple she supposed.

She was really, very sad, holed up in her bedchambers and for once, not even concentrating on the sheets of parchment or the books before her. The end of their short-lived romance was moving in on them. Cupid himself pulled the arrows back out their bums and snapped them like twigs. Hermione only hoped that when she finally sat Ron down to talk it out and break things off that she and him could remain friends, or at least cordial. One thing she couldn't bear to live without was her kinship with Ronald. She had a feeling however, that for this at least they were on the same page and it wouldn't come as much of a shock. Ron, and even Harry and Ginny, they all knew exactly what was coming. It'd be mutual, she reasoned. Most likely, Ron was just as sick of it all as she and honestly it'd been pretty toxic for everyone who'd ever gotten wrapped up in their petty arguments. Yes, yes – it was in everyone's best interest, and even if she and Ronald stayed friends she reckoned they'd still need a lot more time apart to fully recover.

Hermione wished she wasn't dragging it out so. She'd meant to take him aside today, she really did but no moment ever seemed right…

_Tap, tap._

There was an owl rapping on her window. Brought out of her doleful reverie by the disturbance, Hermione got up to let it inside. "Hello there," she cooed sweetly. The large eagle owl gave a proud hoot and lifted its claw to show the rolled letter attached. "I recognize you…" she said to the bird, her eyes narrowing at the parchment. Why would _he_ be writing to her? Nevertheless she untied it and gave the owl a handful of treats.

Before she could completely unbind the letter though the owl was finished his snack and flying swiftly back out to the night breeze. Hermione thought that was odd… wasn't he going to want a reply? Quickly she unrolled it and read.

_Granger,_

_Meet me on the seventh-floor corridor at 9pm, this night. I'll be waiting in the alcove between the North Wing and the old RoR. This may or may not be considered urgent._

_Malfoy_

'What in the dickens?' she thought. What urgent matter could there possibly be? It wasn't like they were prefects this year, or anything. No, unfortunately Hermione hadn't the privilege to be Head Girl like she'd always strived for but if she were being honest, she was quite glad for the lack of responsibilities she had for once.

So what was Malfoy on about? Well it wasn't like she was going to just brush it off as nothing. Whatever it was, it'd been enough to get him to reach out to her. Even if she somehow talked herself out of it, the curiosity that'd instantly grown and made a home in her brain would surely never let her get to sleep. At least he'd only asked her to go up one flight of stairs. Malfoy was the one who was walking all the way up to the top of the castle from the dungeons – that was commitment.

Besides… maybe he wanted to say something similar to what he'd said to Harry. What if he felt inclined to apologize? That'd made Hermione want to laugh for it would've been absolutely preposterous. Yet he'd politely approached Harry and thanked _him_ (she was thoroughly disappointed she hadn't been around to witness such a transcendent moment), and he'd kept his mouth shut about their identities at the manor. She wouldn't forget that. It'd been pivotal, a risk. Malfoy had put himself on the line for them and it'd shown her the true character that was somewhere within. Hermione knew then there was hope for him yet.

She felt a bit ashamed at herself, for not really acknowledging it but for the majority of the year Malfoy had rather kept to himself. Hermione couldn't actually remember a time she'd seen him out and about with the usual snakes, or anyone else for that matter except for taking meals in the Great Hall. What was else, he'd barely made a peep throughout the couple of classes they were in together, which was the strangest thing because Malfoy used to _love_ to hear himself talk. He'd actually been quite devious when it came to gossip, he was always on the lookout for any dirt he could use against Harry, or she and Ron. His tongue had constantly wagged, complained, insulted people…

Now Malfoy's participation had been the bare minimum and he'd left everyone alone, most likely in the hopes they'd do the same. From what Hermione knew at least his grades weren't suffering like they'd been during sixth year. He was right behind _her_ in that department. It seemed his health was back to normal too. He used to look like you could blow at him and he'd fall over, but that hadn't been for a while. He looked good, frankly.

Hermione felt it'd definitely be nice to see a different side of Draco Malfoy, a better side. Something about this entire thing made her all aflutter with nerves though. Dare she say it, she felt afraid of what exactly was in store for her at that nook on the seventh-floor.

-o-

Draco was usually quite good at these sorts of things – compelling beautiful witches to talk to him, spend time with him, to _kiss_ him but now he felt his whole vibe was totally off. Never had he felt so rusty, writing to a female to try and get her to meet him some place. It wasn't like he was going to outright seduce her or anything but it might be beneficial perhaps, if he'd put a tiny inkling of the idea in her head and see where that took him.

He'd attempted to capture Granger's attention by implying that this might all be very urgent and Draco figured that'd be thought-provoking enough for her to come find him. He had a vague plan, he smelled clean and fresh, and he was taking a couple of deep breaths to center himself before her inevitable arrival.

Minutes later, it was exactly nine in the evening and there she was, punctual as ever standing in the archway of the little alcove Draco always liked to come to. Her face, which had an expression of deep concern, was illuminated by the bright light of _Lumos_ protruding from her wand-tip.

"Granger," he greeted with a single nod of his head, his silver hair falling in his eyes. He kept his shoulders set straight but casual, gaze not leaving her as she stepped in and surveyed the nook for anything out of the ordinary. Most likely looking for traps, or a set-up, he mused. He didn't blame her.

"Hello Malfoy," she responded as her eyes raked him over, trepidation very apparent in her demeanor. She was wearing her cloak, like he was (it was often freezing in this ancient fortress) but underneath he could see a soft blue sweater and muggle denim. Her curls were rested above in a functional, messy bun and there were a few loose tendrils framing her heart-shaped features. She was really very endearing…

Draco remained seated where he was but took the book from beside him and slowly set it in his lap as she stood in front of him. His lips curled into a tempestuous smirk, his shining eyes searching hers; he had a secret and damnit, he didn't want to let it go. Although he had to concede – the potential alternative was far too tempting for him to pass up.

One of Hermione's perfectly sculpted brows quirked in light annoyance at his smirking, yet she noticed he didn't hold the smarmy air of pride and arrogance that he once did. Actually it seemed he was being rather coy with her. He clearly knew something she didn't and the observation of his warm, teasing countenance sped her heartrate to light-speed at once.

"Thanks for meeting me here," Draco drawled calmly before she got to saying anything, "Sorry it's so late…" he trailed off, looking down at the book and back at her but Hermione was already shook on the inside from Malfoy saying thank you and sorry all in one go – not that _that'd_ been what he'd meant, of course. It was just kind of funny. Was he trying to freak her out on purpose?

"That's okay, it _is_ Friday," Hermione stowed her wand away, the brief shock wearing off. "Is… is everything alright?" she questioned tentatively, twiddling her fingers. Draco closed his eyes, shaking his head and snickering as he held out the text for her to take. Hermione blinked at it, perplexed but took it nonetheless and read the cover. "This is the Charms text,"

There was a twinkling in Draco's gaze, "Yes," he replied, as if the purpose of it was obvious.

She stared at him quizzically, almost laughing. "Well, what about it? What, Malfoy is so urgent about this?" He must be having a go at her. Her neck was already growing wildly hot from the oncoming embarrassment of what he might possibly be scheming.

He waved her off dismissively and stood up from the stone bench, sighing, "Listen Granger, just pass this message along for me, will you? Tell Weasley he'd do better not to leave such precious belongings lying about for just _anyone_ to come and find."

"What? But this is just a textbook..." she grumbled disbelievingly, "Ron Weasley doesn't think of his textbooks as precious, Malfoy even you know that," she chuckled, completely exasperated but when she opened the tome a startled gasp escaped her of her own volition.

There, in between the first page and the hardback cover, right underneath the spot where it had Ron Weasley's name scribbled haphazardly was the moving portrait she'd taken of herself for said wizard. It'd been a surprise, a kind of silly but very sensual and romantic gift she'd given him a day prior to losing their virginities together, just a week before her birthday that previous September.

She gasped again, one that was more laden with horror – the frightening sensation that the world was crashing down on her was beginning to set in. _Malfoy_ had seen this. He'd _seen_ it. Oh gods, she could die, she might. She wouldn't be able to stop herself if she fainted then and there, she almost thought she was. Hermione's hand was over her mouth, then on her face, rubbing her temple with the onslaught of a trauma-induced headache. Her face was scorching, vision blurred and for a second she was about to vomit.

Draco tried to contain himself as he watched the typhoon of befuddlement and hysteria swirl about in her expressions – the true realization was dawning on her. She was starting to understand, understand what he'd been privy to though he'd have preferred her not to seem as if she were sick from the knowledge. Did the idea of him disgust her _that_ much?

His hand shaking, it hovered above her petite frame before decidedly resting it on her shoulder. This was his feeble attempt at a comforting gesture; he didn't want her to fall over for Salazar's sake. He was sniggering but not maliciously so – her reactions were just incredibly amusing. She was stumbling about feverishly, groaning, holding her head in her hands and then glaring at him heatedly with untapped anger.

"Look, I get it," he tried, "It's _more_ than unfortunate that I had to be the one to find this little… treasure, that _anyone_ had to find it at all, which brings us right back to the point," she had most of her balance back and was taking in his every word as he towered above. Hermione honed in on the sincerity in his stare, acutely aware of his pale thumb tapping at her collarbone and she did her best to ignore the prickling of gooseflesh along her bosom. "People shouldn't forget they have something so, so… they shouldn't _forget_ having something like that with them," he bit his lip, his cheeks pink and warm. A bead of sweat ran down his spine despite the chill in the air and Granger, it looked as if she didn't know _what_ to make of this. She was gaping at him like he'd just grown three heads, as if she'd never truly seen him before until now. She mustn't have had any idea how lovely she actually was, her chest heaving with each breath, the fluttering of her dark lashes. "I mean _really_ , you're just…" he swallowed thickly, his voice gruff with lust. "You're lucky I'm even giving it back to you." Draco made himself finish promptly, releasing his grasp on her shoulder. Hermione instantly felt a thousand degrees cooler without his touch, but what he'd just confessed sparked within her a mild hostility towards the snake.

"Lucky am I?" she began, offended. "You would have just kept it for yourself then, yeah? Well, that's not _right_ Malfoy, that's-"

"No it isn't, is it? So why do you think I gave it back to you then?" That was true, Hermione thought. He did give it back, though it wasn't clear just how long he'd had it to begin with. She couldn't be totally sure yet but it seemed that he _wasn't_ plotting to use this against her… plus he'd gone out of his way to make sure it'd been returned in a discreet manner. "I'm just saying that if this had happened before the war, I might not have made the same decision."

After a moment, "Why _did_ you give it back?" she queried but she knew the answer.

"You know why, I had plenty of reasons to."

This wasn't easy for Hermione to understand. He'd actually _wanted_ to keep the picture? He thought that it was… it was precious? That meant that… meant that Malfoy actually _liked_ the way she looked. Well, that was certainly news to her. Since _when_ did the ferret-boy ever find her attractive? There'd never been any inclination whatsoever… he'd always considered her the mousy, bossy and uptight bookworm, he'd hated her guts she thought. Had this picture of her changed his mind? Or had he always thought her outward appearance appealing in some way? Merlin, she had so many questions, but her mouth was having a difficult time asking him any of them. Should she even dare to?

He was talking again, she was listening in wonderment, "Like I said, I'm sorry it had to be me and… well, I'm sorry for-for _everything_ I did to you, so unbelievably so," he shook his head, distressed from the memories, "I know my pitiful apology doesn't actually erase history but… just take it or leave it, I guess," he took a few steps towards the archway, readying to leave but he turned back to her for a last look and told her, "Thank you, Granger, for showing up for me, for speaking on my behalf at the trial. You _saved_ my life just down the hall there when I didn't deserve your mercy. Words cannot express…" Draco was completely flustered with himself; he felt that was absolutely enough honesty for one night or the brain inside his skull would melt to mush. He disappeared from the alcove before he could hear her response, before he could hear if she'd accepted his plea of atonement. He wasn't sure he could see her sweet smile again in such close vicinity without wanting to cover her lips with his own.

-o-

_March 15th,_ _1999_

The next morning before breakfast, Hermione left her living quarters on the sixth-floor and sat herself on the bench at the end of the Fat Lady's corridor by the Gryffindor common room. From here she could see in almost all directions. She was waiting for Ron to walk by so she could reprimand him, so she could end things. It was time. She hadn't wanted to face him at breakfast without going to him about the issue first, it wouldn't have been a good idea to sit there at the table and pretend there was nothing wrong when _everything_ was wrong… well, between she and Ronald anyway. She couldn't _believe_ his idiocy sometimes. The nerve of him to think keeping the portrait stashed inside something like a textbook was okay…

Ginevra was the first of her friends to walk by, gliding with poise behind Fay Dunbar. She looked afresh, awake; her hair appeared blown out and brushed, a voluminous, pin-straight shock of copper which fell to her chest. Her bright tawny eyes were alight with unbidden energy and she had a little skip in her step, ready to begin her day. Hermione wished she felt as chipper as Ginny looked.

The red-head noticed her immediately, "Hey Hermione,"

"Hello," Hermione greeted with a half-hearted smile, but she'd tried not to let on just how upset she really was. Ginny was perceptive, however.

"What's wrong?"

Hermione balked, not sure what to say at first but, "It's fine. You'll find out soon enough, I'm sure."

"Oh no, it's happening," Ginny's eyes were now wide, momentarily stunned with the realization, "I can't _believe_ it's finally happening… okay Hermione, deep breaths. I support you in this, a million times over." Ginny had once again turned into the suddenly wise, spiritual guru that'd come out every so often, usually on days when Hermione hadn't felt so great, or in times of distress during one of she and Ron's tiffs. It'd done the trick and cheered up Hermione at moments when she'd needed it the most. Ginny was very funny, sprightly and occasionally crude. Hermione had to admit that it could be incredibly delightful.

Her lips now quirked into a more genuine smile, "Thanks Gin, it'll be done and that will be that,"

"Sooner than you think, unfortunately," Ginny relayed, gazing down the corridor behind her where Harry and Ron were trudging slowly towards them.

"No, not unfortunate," Hermione shook her head, standing. "I'm just ready to get on with it,"

"Good luck," whispered the youngest Weasley as she stood aside and waited for Harry.

"Gin, Hermione," Harry said to them sleepily, giving his girlfriend a lazy kiss on her nose and making her giggle.

"Hey 'Mione," Ron was giving off an awkward vibe, his hands in his pockets. He seemed uncomfortable to be around her, sheepish and thin-lipped, as if he knew what was about to come.

"Ron," she replied, no-nonsense in her tone, her expression austere.

"Let's go," Ginny beckoned Harry, pulling on his arm to follow but Harry stared back at his comrades in confusion. "No, c'mon, leave 'em,"

They both heard Harry say, "Why? What's… _oh_ ," and then the much happier couple were gone, hastily heading down the staircase.

Ron didn't speak – he was staring at the carpet, his skin pallid from the anxiety he must have been feeling then. Hermione didn't want to hurt him, she loved him, in her own way but it was maiming them both to stay together like this. Everything between them had become so complicated and she didn't want that, things weren't the same as before. Wouldn't it be a huge weight lifted from their shoulders once they could get on to being simply friends again? Did _he_ still want to be?

"Can we go into your room to talk?" she asked and Ron was taken slightly off guard.

"Erm, maybe we should go into yours instead," he said. "My room isn't exactly… in the best shape right now."

"Okay," Hermione turned on her heel and the tall, lanky red-head shadowed after her. They walked swiftly down the staircase where Harry and Ginny had just gone but took a bypass down an intersecting corridor to Hermione's assigned quarters.

Once inside she rounded on him angrily, hitting him good across his bicep with the otherwise normal Charms book she'd been carrying.

"Ow!" Ron yelped more from shock than pain and Hermione just glared at him brazenly, bidding herself to stay calm. "Now _what_ did I do to deserve that one? I've been leaving you alone haven't I? You said you wanted time and I gave it to you,"

"Here's a better question Ronald," she began, her jaw clenched, "Have you by chance, _lost_ anything lately?" her fingers brushed over the cover of the tome in her hands, "Anything you might consider… I don't know, precious?" shining silver eyes and a playful smirk flashed in her mind.

Ron gulped, audibly. He'd realized the book she'd been holding wasn't just one Hermione was planning on perusing over breakfast, no…

"Um… is that my Charms boo-"

"Yes. It. Is." Hermione spat, seething furiously for added measure and Ron flinched away from her on instinct. "Did you _even_ notice, even notice it was missing? _Oh no_ , I doubt it," she was raving with dramatic flair, waggling the book around with ferocity. "Considering how you probably haven't even _worked_ on your Charms essay yet, and now to discover you're not exactly _studying_ when you should be, I mean this was just _unbelievable_ , completely tactless of you Ronald!"

"Bloody hell, Hermione, I'm _really_ sorry," he groaned in discomfort, in despair. He was holding his brick-red face in his hands, his eyes misty. Hermione didn't want to make him cry but damnit, she needed him to know the ramifications of his forgetfulness. With her own dignity and reputation on the line, she considered this up there with Neville writing down the passwords to the Gryffindor common room on a piece of parchment and losing it in third-year (it'd turned out Sirius wasn't attempting to murder Harry but it was the principle of the matter; what if Sirius _had_ been? One could never be sure in those moments). "Truly, I didn't mean to!" Ron wailed and she could have rolled her eyes.

"I know you didn't _mean_ to," Hermione stated, "That's not the point. You shouldn't have kept the portrait inside something like a class textbook, where, where just anyone can find it," her voice had less bite to it and Ron took note of the curious gleam in her gaze.

"Who _did_ find it?" he asked angrily, almost growling. Ron Weasley would beat the living daylights out of the sneaky wanker who'd nabbed the risqué picture of his girlfriend. "Where is it? Do you have it?" he seemed ready to pounce, his chest puffing up with alpha-like testosterone.

Once again, Hermione was positively stunned from her own acting skills, "Think Ron, think… _I_ found it, _me_ , and it was damn lucky I did. Don't you think that if someone _else_ had found it I wouldn't be hexing you into the next century right now?" she wasn't about to tell him Malfoy was the one… not after how stupidly kind the Slytherin had been to her when he'd returned the photo. His silken words were repeating over and over in her head; every time she thought back on it, to his sincerity, his closeness, to the hot, choking atmosphere around them, Hermione's body flushed and the sensitive juncture between her legs tingled with an unfamiliar sort of desire. So far it'd felt _maddening_ , so maddening she'd refused to think on it for long and chose to ignore the meddlesome fluttering of butterflies in her ribcage.

"Must have forgotten it in the library," Ron deduced, simmering down and Hermione did her best to give him a convincing expression.

"Yes, that's where it was…" she responded, then quickly adding, "Would you mind telling me on which precise occasion you believe you left it?"

"Uh, probably on Thursday… yeah, Thursday night. I went with Harry, he was taking notes and I ended up falling asleep," he chuckled, rubbing his neck.

" _Ah_ … I see. That makes sense," she sighed. It'd been an honest mistake, really but that was neither here nor there. She was still going to go through with her original plan, she had to. "Listen Ron," Hermione was stern but before she could continue he stopped her, giving her a gentle and very knowing look.

"I know what you're about to do, what you're gonna say," Ron started. "Normally I'd beg you to reconsider, beg you to stay with me," he reached out, tightly wrapping his fingers around her shoulder, the same shoulder Malfoy had held a mere ten hours ago, and Ron's other hand brushed the front of her curls away from her face, his hazel-blue pools welling with tears. "I _love_ you," he confessed, a single saline drop falling down the apple of his cheek.

"Ron…" it came out a strangled whimper.

"I don't want us to end," he hugged her completely this time, taking her entire frame into his arms. Hermione inhaled deeply, making sure she'd always remember his welcoming smell, someone who smelled like home. Ron was her family.

"We won't," she replied. "We don't have to _end_ , necessarily,"

"What do you mean? You'll still be my friend?" Ron queried, letting go of her and Hermione was taken aback by how worried he actually appeared.

"Why yes, of course," she answered, "I'm not just going to abandon you, you know. I'd like things to go back to normal, well as normal as they can be but… I wouldn't say we should spend _too_ much time together either. We both need to give ourselves a while to really heal."

Ron nodded in understanding, for once not fumigating with anger from the world not going his way. He was really being a good sport, which wasn't unlike him. It was rather like the old Ron, actually, the Ron who'd stood behind Harry without question, the Ron who stepped aside when it mattered most and _that'd_ made Hermione smile.

By the end of their discussion breakfast was well under way and Ron had practically run out the door to make it to the Great Hall. Hermione on the other hand, had a different idea. She certainly didn't fancy having to make an appearance at the Gryffindor table right then, didn't want to see Ginny and Harry's anxious expressions as she and Ron inevitably broke the news. No, she had about enough emotional stress to last her a lifetime, she preferred to dodge it whenever she could. Instead she'd head to the Hufflepuff basement and tickle the pear on the painting to get into the kitchens. Hermione thought it'd be nice to give the house-elves a warm visit and see how they were fairing. She didn't like to have them doting on her like they did, obviously but she was starving and this felt to be her only option right then.

It wasn't until later when Hermione would finally let the thoughts she'd stowed away, the thoughts of Draco Malfoy flood her mind and her senses. It wasn't long after that when she'd felt pure shock at herself for thinking how _much_ she might like it, how much she'd like giving the photograph right back to him. She would never, not in a million years actually do that though… would she?

-o-

**AN** : Sorry about some of the extra long paragraphs, they felt necessary to me. Once again, thank you so much for reading the story so far. Please follow and review if you like it! I hope you all have a great week! Much love and cheers :0)


	3. Chapter Three

**AN** : Hey everybody! I'm so sorry I took forever to update but the world is batshit crazy right now. However I am lucky enough to still have a job in these dark times so I don't necessarily get to isolate enough and I haven't had a whole lot of time. Any who, I want to thank you all so much for the beautiful reviews and follows. I can't tell you all how much it means to me, like seriously. It's too much for my heart to handle.

This chapter isn't as long as I would have liked but I felt it was a good chunk and I wanted to get something out there for you guys as quickly as possible. We're getting kinda fluffy here so just keep that in mind. Draco will get more sexual and suave as the story goes on. Right now it is the very beginning of their love affair so they're going to have to get over some nerves.

If you like this fic and you love Fred Weasley then I highly recommend the other fic I've been working on. It's called **Those Summer Nights** and I have it posted under the same penname – gratefulsugar. Please check it out! It's only two chapters in and it's getting very smutty. Go have at it!

**Finders Keepers**  
 **Chapter Three**  
-o-

_March 19th_ _,1999_

By Monday, the entire school knew of Granger and Weasley's romantic separation. Draco hadn't been surprised in the least, when he'd overheard the whispers in the Great Hall. Of course, without really trying to be, he was sure he'd been a strange sort of catalyst to the matter. The Weasel, having kept the risqué portrait inside his textbook and proceeding to lose it (seriously, what kind of dunderhead does that?), then Draco getting hold of it was obviously Granger's last straw. He really couldn't blame her.

She was a single, fully eligible witch now – not that it truly meant anything, not for Draco. After their tete-a-tete on the seventh-floor – where he'd _clearly_ embarrassed himself – he was wholly convinced it'd be better to leave her alone. Self-isolation was his greatest talent, and antisocial had already been his temperament all year. In the alcove with the witch was likely the most he'd spoken to anyone since they returned in September.

Things would be no different. Hermione Granger felt no more, no less of him.

He _hated_ himself, he always had. The Gryffindor's had every right to feel the way they did about him, to loathe him. Sure, Potter had smiled nicely at Draco when he'd briefly apologized before break but in all honesty the wizard probably turned right around and had a good laugh with his mates about how pathetic Draco Malfoy really was. He expected that's the kind of thing he truly deserved, anyway.

Such were the bottomless reasons he had to avoid Granger but just as well he suddenly felt unable to trust himself around her, his long-darkened heart too vulnerable. Just then, Draco was sitting in Potions class unenthused by Slughorn's lecture, sneaking glances at the wild mane of curls a few seats over and coming to grips with the harsh reality that he very much indeed, had feelings for Granger. He probably always had. He would never do anything about that though, not unless she…

Another peek at the witch; she was scribbling feverishly, no doubt something that'd be on their Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests. He should really be paying attention to Slughorn but it was exceedingly difficult after knowing just exactly how incredible Granger looked beneath her garments. There wasn't a whole lot left of his brain, that wasn't taken up by the unforgettable image of her round curves scantily-clad in sheer lingerie. Draco imagined unhooking her brassiere with his teeth just for fun and grazing his fingers along her velvety skin; he thought how he'd like to press his tongue to her throat and kiss a trail to her jaw, to her pretty mouth that somehow never stopped talking, so breathless she always was. If he snogged her he was afraid she wouldn't be able to breathe at all.

But Draco had to be kidding himself. There was no plausible way the Princess of Gryffindor Tower would want a single thing to do with him. Already had she practically fainted, vomited and hyperventilated all at once, reasonably freaked out he'd gotten a hold of the photograph to begin with. He'd made that girl's life her own personal _hell_ since he'd known her. Granger had absolutely no reason to give him a second chance. He was a fool for getting hopeful, believing that just maybe things could change, a fool for thinking one day he'd genuinely be reprieved of his sins. She wouldn't even catch his gaze in class, promptly ignoring any indication of him at every turn but this… was good. It was supposed to be like this.

-o-

_April 5th,1999_

It'd been several moons since Hermione had met with Malfoy, since he'd returned the Charms book, her portrait. They hadn't spoken, he hadn't reached out to her again and she kept her distance. If Ron was to heal from their broken relationship, if _she_ was, then it certainly wasn't a very sensible idea to be walking around with the ex-Death Eater.

Draco was more than that, more than a Death Eater. That didn't define him she knew better but did Ron? Ron would not take it well if she got friendly with the silver-haired wizard, was even seen anywhere with him or any other boy at Hogwarts for that matter but still… she rather _did_ want to give the photograph back to Malfoy, as a kind of gift.

It could be like a truce, or a peace-offering, a way to show him that she had in fact, heard every word of his somewhat rushed, but sincere apologies and that… well, she'd suddenly found herself exceedingly attracted to the Slytherin prat. She definitely wouldn't tell him that last bit though. Hermione could let him figure that one out on his own.

She, Ron, Ginny, Harry as well as Bill Weasley whom was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor that year, had just arrived back to Hogwarts – via apparition point in Hogsmeade – from a morose weekend spent at the Burrow. It was permitted by the Headmistress seeing as they were having a sort of celebration of life, in memorial of Fred. He and his twin's birthday had been that Thursday at school so they weren't actually able to do very much about it until they left for Ottery St. Catchpole the next evening after classes.

Now they were getting back to business; today was Monday and she was already sitting in the dungeons trying to listen to Slughorn's lesson. It was proving to be harder than she'd have liked to concentrate on the potion ingredients the old man was listing while Malfoy was sitting directly in front of her.

Thankfully Hermione had already memorized exactly what components she'd need, as well as the following motions required for this specific brew three days ago because just then she was simply stuck admiring how long the silvery-fine pieces of his hair were at the nape of Draco's snow-white neck; how his blonde mane was ruffled sexily, like he'd just rolled out of bed and hadn't given a damn what he looked like and good Merlin, it was _hot_. He had long ceased slicking his locks back over his head with gel, something he hadn't done for a few years and he seemed healthier now than he'd ever been. There was a sort of lazy, ruggedness about Malfoy which he'd never had before.

Hermione internally groaned. This wasn't fair. She took a peek at Ronald beside her… he was such a sweet wizard. Hermione was elated they could remain cordial, remain friends, elated that he'd wanted to and that he'd agreed about not seeing too much of one other. They hadn't meant to sit next to each other in class but they'd been a tad late and therefore did not have their pick of seats.

What was sort of funny, yet mostly maddening, was that since the break-up Ron had behaved just like the old Ron, the Ron she'd fallen in love with in the first place. Their relationship had obviously stressed him out more than she'd originally thought. Hermione was aware she hadn't always reacted in the best ways to his angry outbursts – there were many a moment when she'd been selfish enough but she'd done the best she could and she hoped she wasn't as bad of a girlfriend as she was beginning to wonder.

She probably had been, considering how they'd only just ended things a few weeks ago and already she was fantasizing about someone else, about Malfoy taking control and pushing her into a secluded corner to give her sensuous, slow kisses. She wanted to know what he _felt_ like, the vulnerable parts of the pureblood heir she'd never known and likely never would.

It really wasn't the most practical idea but there was a chance she could still give him her portrait. At least if she did, he would have some sort of token of her, to know that somewhere in her was an unexpected appreciation, a common ground. He himself had declared her half-nude photo as something he thought was precious, called it a _treasure_ and implied he hadn't even wanted to return it. Then he had anyway.

She knew she was nutters for thinking so, but for some sick and twisted reason she felt he rather deserved it – but more than that she just _wanted_ him to have it. Her thighs rubbed together from the potential idea of Malfoy enjoying the portrait of her for its true purpose. Would he actually… touch his cock, would it get _hard_ watching her as she spun around and wantonly teased him with the sight of her curves?

She'd want to know, she'd want to know if he did, if he had after she gave it back. Hermione didn't know how she would approach him for either instances but she would find out once he'd had the picture for a while, if he'd happened to do such things – that is to say, if he even accepted her gift.

Well, she would be sneaky about it then, she would _make_ him accept it.

-o-

_April 7th,1999_

That Wednesday Hermione was leaving Charms with Harry and Ron.

"I'm so excited it's finally lunch time," Ron mumbled, holding his belly as they walked out the door.

"Yes, I think _everyone_ in class could hear your stomach rumbling," said Harry chuckling and Ron's brows rose with indifference. Ron didn't care if the whole world knew he was hungry. They both made Hermione laugh.

Yet just then she saw Malfoy coming from the opposite direction, making his way straight passed them however in between their conversation and the sea of students surrounding them neither Ron nor Harry noticed the wiry, silver snake. Hermione knew that he'd seen _them_ though, but did what he did best those days and blended in with the crowd, finding quick cover behind a wide group of Ravenclaw sixth years.

Hermione took this as an opportunity and quickly she found an excuse, "Damn, forgot I need to get something back in my room. I'll see you down there," she didn't wait for her friends to answer, just sent their confused faces an apologetic expression and hastily began her descent down the corridor.

She followed Malfoy brusquely but waited to get too close until the Ravenclaws in front of them were out of earshot, until she was sure there were no real witnesses around. Hermione caught up to him, clearing her throat as she fell into step beside him. Draco's grey eyes widened as he saw her there before humorously looking around the hall to make sure she was actually trying to talk to him and not someone else.

"Is there… something you need, Granger?" he asked tentatively, feeling his hands suddenly so clammy. Hermione stopped abruptly, making him do the same. She seemed to be struggling finding the words to say.

After a moment, "Where are you going?" she queried. Draco shuffled his feet, gripping onto the strap of his bag a little tighter.

He was lightly laughing in a nervous like manner, old flashbacks and old feelings flooding his senses and instantly he became that paranoid boy from sixth year again. "What's it to you?" his voice sounded broken, guarded.

"I'm only curious," Hermione answered brightly. "It's a fair question, since most are on their way to lunch at this time,"

"Oh yeah? Well, then why aren't you on your way to lunch too?" he countered, wondering why she was tip-toeing around the reason for her unexpected presence.

Her brown eyes met the carpet, "I… wanted to ask you something." Draco stared at her, shock written all over his face. What could she possibly want to ask _him_? Was this about the portrait, was this about their tainted past? Was she going to tell him his stupid apologies meant nothing to her? "Quick," she snapped, grabbing his arm (he almost yelped in surprise), pushing him into a nearby, empty classroom and then locking the door behind them.

"What the bloody…?" he gazed around anxiously, for what he didn't know and she almost giggled at his response. "If all you wanted was to lock yourself in a room with me, you only had to ask." Draco stated boldly, attempting to deflect from his building terror.

"Oh please," said Hermione, her face staining with red. "That is _not_ what this is. I…" she hesitated, shaking the swirling thoughts from her curls. "I just wanted to know… when you told me that if you'd found the photograph before the war, that you might not have made the same decision… what exactly did you mean? You know, like what would be the _reasons_ you'd have kept it?"

Draco balked; he couldn't believe Granger was asking him _this_ of all things. He tried to just think for a moment, coming up with his truth of it, "Well obviously I'd have made copies of it, probably posting it around on all the walls for the entire school to see. I'd have taken the mickey out of you, and Weasley for it," Hermione appeared horror-stricken. "That is to say, if I was still the same,"

"That _certainly_ would have been grounds for expulsion," she stated crisply, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Quite," he replied, shrugging. Granger was not satisfied with any of this.

"It would have been incredibly cliché to boot, talk about uncreative," she added and he scoffed in agitation. "Tell me," she swallowed down a lump of nerves, "Are those the o-only reasons you'd have kept it? You-you said that it was… that is was precious."

Draco gulped in turn, chuckling tensely. Now he knew the _real_ reason she was prying. He leaned back against the wall, trying to keep his cool and look cool too when really he felt he was falling, falling through a portal in time and into a parallel universe, one where Hermione Granger wondered if he thought she was attractive.

"What exactly do you uh, want me to say?" he drawled slowly, casually. "I... I rather meant what I said that night, Granger," his cheeks were becoming rosier by the second, his voice dripping huskily with want as he remembered every detail of her body, "I happen to," swallowing hard, " _Like_ what I saw,"

Hermione, flustered as she'd ever been, said nothing, gave nothing away but her bashfulness. Draco looked away from her, staring at the floor as his heart felt like it'd beat right out through his ribcage. He thought the earth stopped moving.

Without another moment's waste, Granger seemed to materialize a book from midair and hastily came closer to hand it out to him. "What's this?" he questioned, frozen.

"Just take it," she clipped, outright snatching his wrist and plopping the tome right into his palm. "It's a text you've _probably_ already read, a very intriguing text on various jungle plants. It's helped me a lot with Herbology when I need it, _and_ different, particular potions," she felt to be rambling now. "I dare say you'll find it very _useful_. Anyway, I gotta go," she waved her wand and unlocked the door, making ready to leave. "I'll see you around?" she batted her lashes at him over her shoulder before she was gone.

'Oh, what a clever little minx, so generous, just amazing,' he was thinking as he peered down in wonderment at the book she'd bestowed to him. He knew _exactly_ what she'd just given him, oh yes.

There was a small crack of the spine as he opened it up and found what he'd known would be there, just after the first page: her risqué portrait.

It was his, _all_ his. She'd wanted _him_ to have it.

How in the fuck was he supposed to avoid her now? He just wasn't going to be able to.

Hermione Granger had his complete attention and he would make absolutely sure he had hers.

-o-

**AN** : I hope all my lovely readers out there are enjoying this so far! Let me know in a review and please follow if you like this story! Updates are sporadic. I do what I can to be as quick about it as possible. Well wishes to you all and I hope you have a great week :0)


	4. Chapter Four

**AN** : I just wanted to say I'm sorry that I haven't answered anyone's beautiful reviews these days. This past year I've fallen into a very antisocial-slump and I often have a hard time reaching out to people. I believe it's also taken a toll on my writing in the sense that I haven't been able to do it enough as I want to. I just sit in front of the computer, frustrated and sometimes tearful because I can't bring myself to get anything out on Microsoft word. I've felt so uninspired as of late but I'm trying. I've been rereading the HP series, again, to help reignite some motivation and ideas. I'm on HBP right now. In my free time when I'm not working (yes I thankfully still have a job) what helps me get inspiration is reading, playing games like Skyrim or the Sims, researching random shit and watching interesting documentaries or movies/TV shows to help get the idea-juices flowing, you know? We're all just doing our best out here and we gotta find enjoyment in the little things.

This is not exactly a slow-burn story so I apologize to anyone who thought so. I probably should have mentioned that to begin with. I do like a good slow-burn every now and again, but dare say I'm not all great at writing them because I'm always much too eager to get to the passion. Still, I'll try to go as slow as the story allows. Draco's apology might've been a little rushed but it is what it is and I like the way it's turned out so far.

Also, I couldn't think of who to make the DADA teacher, so I hope choosing Bill Weasley was sufficient enough. I went back to the last chapter and only made one change – I simply added that when Hermione and the rest went to the Burrow during the weekend for Fred's memorial, that Bill accompanied them.

 **Finders Keepers**  
 **Chapter Four**  
-o-

_April 14th, 1999_

When he wasn't in class, in pubic, or studying, Draco was bashing his candlestick to Granger's picture.

It'd been only a week since she'd given it to him but already, this was too much.

He loved the portrait, do not get him wrong, it was just… he wanted to feel the real thing. He wanted _her_ , he wanted her so badly it hurt, made him feel ill. Granger mustn't've thought this through enough for did she really think he wouldn't want to shag her senseless after blessing him such a privilege?

It'd made matters worse too how whenever she believed no one was watching, Granger would give him these _looks_ , ones where she'd bite her lip, her fluttery eyes shining at him with clear-cut approval. Her demeanor was coquettish, flirty. She _fancied_ him, she had to. He'd gotten this look from different witches before – witches he never actually cared about – plenty of times to know what it meant.

However, Hermione Granger was a sort of enigma. Just because it _seemed_ like she fancied him, didn't mean his overly hopeful ego wasn't getting in the way of his theory. He was probably over-analyzing it. Perhaps Granger was simply showing him her own brand of friendly and he was taking things the wrong way – that'd seemed much more plausible.

Who was he to think the Golden Witch had a thing for _him_?

…but she did give him the portrait. That _meant_ something, meant a few things surely, Draco was just having a difficult time putting it all together. Since when had he become so bad at this? Maybe it was because now, with her, there was so much at stake.

-o-

The rain was pounding on the glass of the windows with the strength of a ferocious sea-wind. There was no subtle rumble of thunder though, no flash of lightning. It was a torrential downpour – not the first of the season, wouldn't be the last and it hadn't let up a bit all day.

Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione sat huddled together at a table in the library but thankfully Ginny didn't have her things spread out on the table like them. She only had the one book she'd come for and her bag, just passing through to say hello.

"What you got there?" Ginny questioned Harry quietly, referring to the parchment and materials before him. "Is it for Defense?"

"Yes," Harry replied. "Last essay ever, for this class,"

"You almost sound sad about it," quipped Ron as he hunched over a book for Transfiguration. "We weren't even _supposed_ to be here this year. We could have been a third through our Auror training by now,"

"Oh stop it," Hermione huffed impatiently. She'd certainly had enough of hearing about _that_. "Believe it or not Ronald, the education you've gotten this year has helped you _significantly_ and I think without it you'd have really struggled,"

Before Ron could get himself too riled up over her chide, Harry interjected, "She's right," he said. "I'm actually happy I came back, despite it all. We've learned a lot,"

This seemed to calm his friend down but he still scoffed, "We've learned _too_ much, Harry, too much,"

Both Hermione and Ginny rolled their eyes, "Stop being so dramatic and get back to your Transfiguration assignment," and then Ron was rolling _his_ eyes at them, being starkly reminded of why he was somewhat glad he and Hermione weren't together anymore.

It'd appeared as if Ginny was getting up to leave when the sight of Draco Malfoy taking a seat at a table down the shelves across from them made them all, for a moment, stop and stare. That trademark silver-blonde hair was sort of hard to miss. Malfoy, feeling their intense awareness of him, looked over, his silver brows rising in surprise before their gazes shifted away uneasily.

Well, Draco was used to _that_. He did his best to retain focus of his task and quickly began working. He pretended Granger wasn't just there, down the rows of tables with her friends, the people who despised him; he pretended he couldn't hear their faint whispers. He couldn't make out what they were saying, exactly but he knew they were talking about him.

"Have you two…" Ginny asked Harry, pointing a finger inconspicuously at the Slytherin. "You know, had any interaction since he reached out to you?"

"No," said Harry simply.

"Why would he?" Ron quizzed, his face scrunched up from angry memories. "Do you _really_ think Harry forgives him, after _everything_ the prick did?"

Hermione peered at Ron, alarmed and then to Harry. Ginny said primly "Harry can forgive who he wants,"

"Yes, why do you think we even _went_ to his trial?" Hermione nodded in agreement.

"Still boggles me, really," grumbled Ron, looking back down at his homework.

She drilled a hole into his forehead with the intensity of her glare, "What boggles you about it?" she ground out through her teeth. Something had crawled up Ron's arse that day and he'd been petulant to everyone without much reason as to why. Hermione just figured this was one of those times where he couldn't refrain from behaving like a brat.

"Oh I don't know, maybe because it's _Malfoy_ ," Ron blew a small raspberry which then gained the attention from the portrait above them. "Shh," it said, and Ron contemplated giving the old crone his middle finger but came back to the discussion, a little more quietly this time. "I just don't understand how you could _ever_ for a second, give that good for nothing cocksucker any-"

Hermione gasped lightly, whilst Ginny and Harry sat wide-eyed and frozen. "Ronald!" Hermione growled, sufficiently kicking him in the shin. "That language is _horrible_ and you're _going_ to get us into trouble,"

"I'm just saying," went on Ron, ignoring her violence but Harry sent him a scathing look.

"Well maybe you should stop saying," said the boy with black-hair and slicing, jewel-green eyes. Ron grimaced, immediately turning beet-red and feeling rather sheepish.

Without another word and to the pure amazement of everyone in their little group, especially Hermione, Harry stood from the table, scooting between the shelves and Ginny's chair before making his way over to Malfoy.

For a second Hermione and Ginny caught eyes, then Hermione was looking back at Harry going towards the blonde and Ginny slammed her hand across Ron's arm. "You _plonker_ ," she spat.

Draco, who'd been pouring over his Ancient Runes notes, peered up and shock overcame him as he was met with the image of Harry Potter standing in front of his table. Hastily he regained his composure, setting down his quill and sitting upright.

"Yes Potter?" he drawled casually, no sign of his once typical arrogant sneer.

Harry shrugged, "Care for a chat?"

Draco hesitated but gestured to the chair across from him. "Alright,"

They both sat there for what felt to be a painstakingly long time, Harry silently scrutinizing the Slytherin and Draco finding it hard to keep eye contact. "What are you working on?" the Gryffindor broke the silence finally and Draco couldn't believe the bloke was just sitting there, trying to have a conversation with him.

"Runes, studying – what about you?"

"Essay for Defense," Harry said, then his face lit up with another question, "How'd you like our teacher this year?"

"Bill Weasley?" Draco thought for a second, then "He… takes a practical approach, he's patient, listens. Best we've had, I think – besides Snape, who I'm sure we can't deny, was in his prime element at the time." replied Draco earnestly and a small smile inched its way upon Harry's lips.

"Even though he's Ron's brother, a Weasley?" Harry wondered and Draco sighed.

"Yes, even though he's… _Ron's_ brother, a Weasley."

That was literally the hardest sentence Draco had ever forced out. His tongue felt like it'd tasted something wretched. He didn't like saying the Weasel's first name in a polite manner – it wasn't natural.

Yet Harry's smile widened, "I think so too, Bill is exceptional and Snape… had been born for it. Of course there was also Remus Lupin, a dear friend of mine. He was excellent at teaching as well," he took a peek at the group of concerned friend's he'd left at the table. Malfoy said something but Harry didn't quite hear him. "What?"

Draco closed his eyes, humiliation already pinking his cheeks. "Sorry, I... just said that _you'd_ probably make a-a good Defense teacher," Harry gazed at him, bewildered. "Obviously I uh, wasn't there to see it but after knowing about your lessons and-and Dumbledore's Army, I honestly wish I could've been there, you know, to learn,"

For a moment Harry seemed completely dumbfounded by, what he was sure was Draco's admiration. "Uh… thanks," he responded, slightly chuckling. "Hermione always says the same thing,"

At the mention of Granger's name Draco's inside's flip-flopped, his heart pitter-pattering, "That you should… be a teacher?"

"Yeah," he said, "That I would make a good one anyway," Draco could only nod, his mouth suddenly as dry as a desert. "Well, see you later Malfoy," Harry made to leave from the table.

"Wait, Potter," he found himself talking before he even knew what he was doing. Harry turned back around and waited, "Um… thanks. You know, for talking to me."

Damn he felt pathetic.

Harry was only kind and replied, "Sure," before walking back to his previous table. Draco stared back down at his notes. He wasn't sure why Potter had wanted to come and talk to him but it'd felt pretty nice to have had someone like him want to engage in light conversation.

Most of the student body preferred to spit at his feet and curse his name or just downright ignore him but the fucking Chosen One himself had greeted him of his own volition. He only wondered why he came over, what it meant for them exactly. Did this mean he could say hello to Potter in the corridors? Had they _actually_ crossed the threshold into, into whatever this was? Draco wasn't barmy; he knew he and Potter weren't mates but still…

He took a chance and looked down the rows at Granger and the rest, who all appeared very confused as Harry got back to their group.

"What was that?" asked Ginny. "What did you just say?"

"Nothing," said Harry, "Just having a nice chat, about classes and such,"

Ron wasn't hearing this, "You've got to be joking,"

Harry, thin-lipped, said "No, not really," and Ron closed his mouth but still gazed at Harry like he'd grown a Siamese-twin. "It was fine, actually. He even told me he thought I'd make a good Defense teacher,"

Hermione's eyes glistened happily, beside herself from this sudden, heartwarming progress. "Are you serious?" she whispered. "That's what-"

"What you always say," Harry finished for her, grinning.

"Hey!" squeaked Ginny, "I say that too!"

"That's true," he said, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend, "You do."

"How would he actually know though, he's never _seen_ you teach, not really," Hermione thought out-loud, despite her loathe of being a downer.

"Well, he said he wished he'd seen me teach in Dumbledore's Army, wished he could've learned what we went over,"

"That's _not_ what I would have expected," Ginny said what they were all thinking.

Hermione pursed her lips, trying to contain herself. "Did he… say anything else?"

Harry contemplated this whilst looking at the ceiling, remembering one fine detail that would probably ring Ron and Ginny's bell a bit. "Uh, just that he thinks Bill is the best Defense teacher we've had, besides Snape."

"He really said that?" Ginny asked bemused, Ron looking back up from his assignment with etched brows. Harry nodded, Hermione was beaming and the once blustering rain outside had ceased to gentle showers.

-o-

_April 15th,1999_

It was a fog-filled morning after breakfast and Hermione was on her way to her Ancient Runes class, the one she shared with Draco. She'd be downright lying if she said she wasn't excited to see him. Not one of her true friends had ever been interested in runes save for Neville Longbottom. The Herbology whiz always liked to peer over her shoulder and ask her curious questions as she'd work on her assignments for that class so she'd wondered why he'd never taken it as well. It really was a fascinating subject.

She took an open seat somewhere in the middle at the back of the room – there were only twelve students in all, taking N.E.W.T. level Ancient Runes so there were always plenty of free desks. Two minutes later and three before class began, Malfoy sauntered in. He looked straight at her, observing her location before sitting down at a desk nearby, one where they could both see each other clearly in between two others – Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil, both highly intelligent Ravenclaws.

From the corner of her eye Hermione watched him pull something small out of his cloak but then he put his bag down, started rifling through it (it took him a suspiciously long time to do so, Padma sending the back of his head a quizzical look) and got out his essentials.

Professor Bathsheba Babbling walked in. Hermione adored that woman and thought her name was fun. She was a stout witch of mid-age, critical but not overly, had a kindly temperament and could also be very funny and witty. She'd been a Ravenclaw in her youth which was fitting.

"Happy Thursday everyone," she came from the very north of England, her Teesside accent thick and enthusiastic. "I want us to get started on that last assignment we talked about before the weekend hits us," Hermione thought that was a good idea, since they didn't have this class again until next week. Just then she felt something poking at her shoe. She peeked down and saw it was a charmed origami cat.

Her cheeks instantly pinked. She gazed at Malfoy – he wasn't looking at her. Then she stared around the room, making sure no one, not even Padma, was paying her any mind. Nonchalantly, Hermione leaned back in her chair and reached her arm down as far as she could until it reached the tiny folded-up parchment.

Quickly she set it in her lap where it was hidden beneath her cloak. She could feel it curl up comfortably as Babbling was walking through the aisles, handing out the advanced runic charts – the last and hardest ones they had to decode. "You have from now until not next class, not the one after that but the third class to finish your translations," she made her way around to Padma, gave her one and then Hermione before continuing on.

Hermione peered at the somewhat daunting lines of runic symbols with glee, elated to have yet another new challenge to focus on. This was one of her favorite activities for this particular subject and she was sad she'd have to see it go by the end of her school year. As mouse-like as she could, Hermione took the now unanimated cat from her lap and unfolded it to spread out on the desk next to her chart.

Her heart beating rapidly, Hermione looked down and read:

_Thought you might appreciate a cat since you used to have one._

_Do you have a free period after Runes? Meet me in the corridor to talk._

She gazed over at the silver snake and when she found his eyes he winked. Hermione couldn't help the cheeky grin that spread wide across her lips. If someone came up and told her just a couple, short weeks ago that she'd be pining for Draco Malfoy she would've laughed in their face. Clearly she was in some alternate reality but so far, she was enjoying herself.

-o-

 **AN** : Hermione will explain Crookshanks absence next chapter. He ain't dead. Anyway, I hope this chapter was not only sufficient but enjoyable! Let me know how you guys like it with a review! I'll be updating sporadically. My last update was not even a week ago so I hope that I can get the next one out in the same amount of time. Stay safe, healthy and warm out there! I hope everyone has a great weekend, cheers!


	5. Chapter Five

**AN** : I'm so sorry for the ridiculous amount of time it takes me to update my fics. I'm working still almost every day so I don't have a lot of time for myself despite this damn quarantine. I am grateful to have my job still but holy fleep.

Any who, I added a Music Room because technically, even though it's not canon, if you look on HP-wiki there is a section of the site that says there was such a room in a few of the various HP video games, I forget which ones. So I believe that's all I really have to say about this… I'd say more but I don't want to give anything away! I hope you guys like this chapter, thank you as always for the lovely reviews and thank you for reading, you people are bitchin' :0)

 **Finders Keepers**  
 **Chapter Five**  
-o-

_April 15th,1999_

It'd felt as if Ancient Runes might never end; Hermione had trouble containing her excitement for what followed after class and all the possibilities of it had her anxious and giddy like a fourth year getting ready for the Yule Ball again.

Thank Merlin she was well-groomed, smelled fantastic and had done some reasonable primping in the mirror that morning. She'd entwined her curls into two long plaits that trailed down her back, giving her a bit of an innocent look and her eyes, a discreet coat of muggle-mascara, naturally. That sort of thing couldn't hurt, right? After all, she'd worn just as much for the skimpy portrait she took _and_ it wasn't as if a minimal enhancement made Hermione look like a different person.

For the rest of the class the students silently, diligently studied their charts and took notes. Hermione managed what she could – while being so bothered – and translated three symbols by the time the bell sounded. Before long, she'd be well on her way to decoding the whole sheet.

Malfoy had made it out before her, waiting as the rest of their peers spilled out of the classroom. He was leaning against a far wall down the corridor and Hermione approached him slowly, tediously. Despite her attempt at nonchalance, still they gained a few glances from some of the other students but for the most part were ignored.

Only one boy – an otherwise harmless Slytherin sixth year named Pascal Hobbes – somewhat lingered, complete confusion etched into his brow while he ambled by.

"Mind your own, Hobbes," Draco drawled lazily, though the waspish glint in his ice-grey stare held clearly the sincerity of his threat. Hobbes shook his head uncomfortably, perturbed from the Fallen Prince's frozen glare but never again looked back. When all were out of earshot the ex-Seeker snapped his attention to her, gaze now warm with a playful smirk toying at the corner of his lips. "So," his voice was slow, sinking into and slinking within her bones. "Final chart's amusing enough. I assume you're already _more_ than halfway done with the translations…"

'Ah, nicely done,' she thought. He was jesting with her in an amicable manner which was, surely always a good sign. The strange sentiment it brought on was a mixture of confusion, happiness and approval – something still so hard to wrap her brain around. Hermione couldn't help but feel at a loss for words in Malfoy's presence when he was behaving so… so _not_ _like_ his old, repugnant and bitter Malfoy-self. She realized she should be getting past it by now but she supposed, after years of abuse from the wizard in front of her it'd take a lot more getting used to.

"Not in the least," Hermione replied, a small smile gracing her features, reaching and lighting up her deep, amber-brown eyes. "Only managed three, with our time given… you?" she asked.

Throwing a sly grin over his shoulder, Draco began a trek towards the lone, spiral stairwell that'd led to the fifth floor. Hermione followed after, curious of their destination as he answered, "Just two actually – I was distracted you see, couldn't focus on the task at all, I… kept _taking in_ the _scenery_."

His statement was laden with innuendo; faint, rosy spots had swirled upon his pale cheeks and from his words instantly Hermione was matching him, flushing from her nose to her toes.

"Ah, well," Hermione swallowed nervously, the blood humming in her ears. "I ran into some trouble myself…" his sharp gaze met with hers, flickering in the candlelight as they stepped side-by-side down the shadowy, stone stairwell. Hermione almost gasped, unable to take a suitable breath as she averted her gaze, averted the general nature of their conversation (though it was helpful to know how much of a distraction Draco found her to be; perhaps this meant he really _had_ used her portrait, had looked at it for inspiration while he was indulging in self-stimulation) "Where _are_ we headed to?" she demanded, her freckled nose-scrunched up cutely.

Draco didn't miss a beat and could see how roused he'd made her. He felt enthralled, fully enjoying this moment and relishing her adorable reactions. "You'll see, Granger," he responded cheekily, pausing as they reached the landing to the fifth floor. "Believe it or not, there _is_ a purpose to where I'm taking you,"

Hermione sounded amazed, "Is there really?" her expression was that of mild wonder and Draco rolled his eyes at her, chuckling as they kept walking.

"There _certainly_ is. Nowhere to be, do you? Was sure you had a free period, just as me,"

"No, nowhere to be," she answered, shrugging lightly. There could be nowhere better, nowhere at Hogwarts she would rather be right then than going on some impromptu adventure with Malfoy. She only hoped they didn't run into any of the usual suspects.

"We're almost there actually, right up here," Draco said, pointing to the two large doors situated at the heart of the corridor and already Hermione's worry slightly diminished. "I just thought you'd like to see where I've been… spending most of my time this year, hiding from everyone."

"The Music Room…?" she thought out-loud, peering through the tiny windows on the door. "I've only gone in a few times, prefect duties mostly." Indeed nobody was inside and they entered, Draco shutting the door behind them. Hermione cheerily peered around; she always felt delighted to see shiny, beautiful instruments but sad she'd never been keen enough to play them. " _This_ is where you've been spending your time?"

"Yes," he replied simply, wading through the sea of violins, violas, cellos and basses. Hermione almost tip-toed after him, afraid she'd knock something over. Draco approached the ebony grand piano located in the far corner of the room and sat down on the bench before it. He cracked the knuckles of one hand, staring back at Hermione and biting his lip in consideration; it was like he was a completely different person.

"Um, excuse me," said Hermione dramatically, pointing to the large, glimmering black and white apparatus. "But are you _actually_ telling me you know how to play that?"

Draco laughed heartily, "The piano? I – yes, of course I do," he seemed almost flabbergasted which in turn, had Hermione feeling just that much more herself.

"What do you mean, 'of course I do,'?" Hermione was chuckling and spluttering in disbelief. "You act as if everyone is trained for it or something. I mean, I've fiddled around with a piano or two but I never actually _learned_ a _song_ ,"

Draco's eyebrows rose in surprise, "You didn't learn –?" he gasped, clasping his hand over his mouth in sarcastic shock.

"Oh shut up," she spat, grinning. "I don't know, I suppose at those times I felt I couldn't be bothered with it. I had other things to focus on, priorities."

"Not much for music, then?"

Hermione side-eyed him, "I didn't take _you_ for such a musical man, Malfoy,"

At once a familiar, but pleasant cacophony of notes hit her eardrums; it resonated throughout the room, ricocheting between every crevice and Hermione was rendered speechless, for Draco's long, pale fingers drummed along the keys with such delicacy, skillfully playing the beginning of the tune she'd long known as _Piano Man_ by Billy Joel.

Draco fingered the entire first part, right up until the vocals would have started and slowly ceased before smirking up at her devilishly. "Not a musical man, you say?"

Hermione couldn't help but feel embarrassed, "I'm… I retract my statement," she said plainly, crossing her arms. "Muggle music, eh? Well, obviously I'm quite impressed. Where _did_ you learn that?"

He nodded to the wall-adjacent – it was completely covered in shelving with different scrolls and various books of musical songs, compositions and scores. "Got to know plenty locking myself in here all year," he stated, "I was forced to learn piano almost from birth. I had my own private instructor and everything, though mother taught me a lot too. I hated it at first, but I was good at it and, over the years I guess I grew to love it."

Hermione felt jealous; she almost wished for the same, to have been forced to learn piano. Though, she was positive she'd be rubbish at it regardless, at least she'd have more knowledge of the art. In fact, it was unfortunate her own intense, thirst to learn whatever she could hadn't ever brought her to sit at a piano's bench for long.

"Would you… care to play some more?" she asked tentatively, shyly.

"Hmm…" Draco peered up at her half-lidded, scratching his chin as if he were deciding. "Only if you come sit with me," He of course, had every intention of playing her more if she fancied so… he just wanted to see if he could get her closer.

Hermione blanched, "Wouldn't I be in the way?" He shook his head, snickering and she suddenly felt silly. The wizard had nice, long arms, which she was only just realizing and coming to fully appreciate. Surely he'd have no trouble at all, reaching any key he needed.

Without another word, a sheepish smile on her lips, Hermione plopped herself beside Draco. "Any requests?" his spine was straight, poised but relaxed. He was so close, their shoulders brushing and Hermione felt tingly everywhere. Her cheeks were so damn hot, her spirit ignited. She had no idea how she even got there.

"I don't know," she was giggling, clutching sweatily the thick material of her long skirt. "What's your favorite?"

"You want me to play you _my_ favorite song?"

"Well, yes,"

"I don't have a _favorite_ , per say," he was very thoughtful for a moment. Then his digits were again splayed out over the bed of the device, settling over the right keys before pressing down and along different ones to produce a stylistic, upbeat song Hermione didn't think she'd ever before heard. It had to be muggle, but she couldn't be sure. It'd seemed as if he started right in the middle of the song and although a bit bombastic and fast-paced throughout the bit, it was clear to Hermione the notes held more melancholia than she initially thought. It was bittersweet sounding, she decided and she very much liked it.

The song died out and Hermione glared at Draco, getting herself to appear offended by his talent. "Seriously, I had no idea you had this in you," she told him scathingly. Draco lightly chortled, just as pink-cheeked as she. His body was somehow much closer than before – their hips were now flush against each other. "What the hell was _that_?"

"The song?" he asked, brow furrowed. "Uncertain Smile by The The, released 1983,"

"What the - _The The_ …?" Hermione spoke slowly, scoffing. "Such a strange name, but the song _was_ beautiful – very, very elegant and, and just _different_ , it was brilliant. I was mesmerized, can't believe I've never heard it before now. Your musical knowledge must be _extensive_."

"Perhaps," replied Draco, finding it difficult to think of anything cohesive, when all that filled his mind was how beautiful, elegant and mesmerizing he found _her_ to be. Didn't she even know how badly he wanted to ravish her? Every little lovely, funny thing about her drove him nutters, even ever since they were children – this witch turned him inside out. "You sound envious, Granger," he supplied, grazing his digits along the keys but not necessarily in any specific order, no song on deck.

Hermione scoffed at him again haughtily, looking outraged. "Ugh, _well_ … maybe a little, yes."

"Can you sing?" he wondered and Hermione cackled profusely.

"No, I can't carry a tune to save my life,"

"Come on, I doubt that," Draco responded, nudging her with his elbow. "Try it right now,"

"Oh no, definitely not," she told him earnestly, her heartrate escalating. "I _can't_ , please don't make me,"

"Merlin Granger, I'm not going to _make_ you sing if you don't want to, I just thought I'd see what I'm working with here,"

"Working with?" she parroted, confused.

"I only meant, if you wanted me to teach you that is but, since you _can't_ ," he imitated her squirrelly, girlish voice.

"Teach me? _Teach_ me to _sing_?" her voice was high-pitched, agitated. "Can _you_ sing? Unbelievable, since when the ever-living _frick_ , do _you_ sing, Malfoy?

"Lovely language," said Draco, skipping his fingers over the keys lazily, haphazardly. Had she forgotten about Weasley is Our King? It'd been one of his great masterpieces."I don't know how or when exactly, I just started one day. It sort of comes hand-in-hand with the piano. I don't think I'm that good at singing either, really but I know _some_ things, I know how to get better at it. It's all about your breathing,"

"Ah, that makes sense," Hermione agreed, knowing she'd heard that somewhere before.

After a moment's pause, she felt a tug on one of her pig-tails, "Nice braids, by the way," Draco murmured, not quite catching her eye.

She was smiling brightly, "Thanks, I… really liked the origami cat. I miss my Crookshanks. He rather enjoys his time at the Burrow so this year I thought I'd let him stay,"

" _Crookshanks_ …?" Draco repeated, amused and Hermione shoved him lightly on the bicep.

"Yes, that's his _name_ and I adore everything about him," she lifted her chin proudly, unashamed.

"Uh huh," breathed Draco teasingly. "Complete fluff-ball, if I ever saw one,"

"He's special, smartest of his kind – part-Kneazle you know," said Hermione, fondly remembering how Sirius Black had complimented her beloved pet-familiar.

"Hm," was Draco's small reply, now gazing at her with a clouded, hooded expression. "That's so _very_ fascinating," the sarcasm was dripping from his tongue, his true thoughts clearly, visibly far-away.

"Oh please," she huffed, fever-hot under his dreamy stare, huddled together so near. Hermione couldn't bear another second of his sensual silence, she would come undone before him if she didn't divert his attention again. "Well then, are you going to play another song?" What was _wrong_ with her? Didn't she _want_ Malfoy to snog the damn dickens out of her?

Draco licked his lips, leaning towards her momentarily and Hermione had almost closed her eyes, expecting him to eradicate the space between them. Yet he'd turned away, overcome with hesitance. "I don't know. I… didn't want to take up too much of your time."

"You're not!" she answered a smidge too hastily for her own tastes and she cringed inwardly at herself. "I just, I mean… are you-are you _done_ playing? I wouldn't mind, if you…" Hermione trailed off as instantly she felt Draco's lengthy, cold fingers enlace with hers she'd been anxiously fiddling atop her lap. She practically gasped from his sudden, tremulous touch.

"S-Sorry, 's just… Granger, can I do this?" he gulped, Hermione's eyes watching as his Adam's apple bobbed within his throat and she nodded dazedly.

They were _holding hands_.

The two of them continued to sit there on the piano bench enjoying each other's presence for a peaceful minute or two, just attempting to breathe as steadily as possible. It was quite nice.

Draco had wanted to kiss her, he didn't know what'd come over him. He was horrified she'd reject his advances, that it would turn out she'd really only given him the portrait as some wily sort of truce and it didn't mean anything deeper.

But somewhere in his gut, somehow he knew she wanted this too and so he felt mortified that he had to ask her just then, he had to know for sure.

"Why'd you give it to me?"

"Wha - ?" she was befuddled by his swift question but Draco barreled on.

"Don't get me wrong, I know that you, for some extraordinary reason, wanted _me_ to have it but why, Granger? What is your reason?"

Hermione's mouth formed a small 'o' once she understood exactly what he was getting at. Should she tell him the truth? She didn't think she could fake indifference this time, not with Draco's fierce, pewter eyes penetrating her so closely. Hermione could feel his tiny puffs of breath careening over her face, he smelled of crisp apples and it made her mouth instantly water.

"I, uh…" she tried. Draco waited patiently for her to articulate an honest response. Hermione sighed, "Surely, you might have guessed I didn't think Ronald deserved it, at that point and… oh, I don't know,"

"And you think I do?" His hand was still wrapped over hers, a bit more tightly now but she didn't think he noticed.

"I – Malfoy, I wanted _you_ to have it," she was becoming exceedingly frustrated by the second, uncomfortable with giving him the finer details.

"Yes, yes I said I get that part but _why_ – ?"

Hermione interrupted him, a question of her own. "Don't you like it? You said you did and I-I… haven't you looked at it at all, or shall I just demand you hand it back over this instant and we can just forget this – "

"Wait, slow down," Draco calmed her, turning more towards her on the bench. He'd been attempting to cease her woebegone bemoaning but she'd relented until his knees met hers, the hand that'd held hers now instead at the small of her spine.

He was toying with the tufts of hair at the end of her coiled pigtail, gingerly brushing his fingers against her back as comfortingly as he could manage. Being kind to others wasn't his strong suit.

A small chuckle escaped him, he couldn't help it. Was she mad? Draco adored everything about the portrait. Her shy innocence though, her naivety and doubt – it was very cute. "You _are_ joking, right?" he began slowly, carefully. He prepared himself for the bomb he was about to reluctantly, but hopefully beneficially unleash. "I… looking at that little portrait of you is the best part of my day, Granger. You'll be damned if you get it back from me without a fight,"

Her breath hitched, "The best part of your – you look at it every day?" Hermione's face, her demeanor, her entire being had lit up at his admission.

Yep, she was blown away alright.

"Looking at it is an understatement," he told her exasperatedly, gruffly by her ear.

His words had her melting like putty; she could feel her nether regions slick with arousal against her panties and her thighs rubbed together eagerly of their own volition.

This was what she'd hoped for. Draco had told her what she'd needed to hear all along.

"Malfoy," her voice was lower, huskier. "That is precisely why I gave it to you, I… to be something to refer to, something to enjoy when you…"

Draco was grateful to set the record straight. "When I...? When I what?" he snickered, surreptitiously tapping her leg with the pads of his fingers. He always loved to get a rise from her.

"You know what I mean," she just about growled even though she knew he was only teasing. "I'm not going to _say_ it,"

"Well, you're not wrong you know," he replied quickly, nonchalant. "But I can think of at least, ten other things at the top of my head that'd be much, much better than spending my night solo with, as spectacular as it is, only the portrait to keep me company,"

Hermione wasn't quite catching on, a distinct dissatisfaction in her tone, "What other _things_?"

Draco tried not to laugh so hard – brightest witch he'd ever known and she couldn't put this all together.

"Ehm, let's see," he pondered, smacking his lips, seeming as if he were thinking really hard. His fingers were still messing with her braids, ghosting her spine and he brought his other hand up, knuckles grazing the soft flesh of her cheek, "Kissing you, for one,"

Hermione's eyes flickered to his, her surprised gaze dropping to his plump mouth in careful consideration but before either of them could think on it more, the doors burst open and in a slew of raucous fourth years waddled, each of different houses.

Neither Draco, nor Hermione made any sudden movements (except for almost jumping away from each other) yet got ready to stand and leave. Most of the fourth years began piling into a nearby closet and withdrawing various woodwind-instruments – flutes, clarinets, obo's and who knew what else – while another group started putting the cellos and huge basses away to make room.

Only two paid them any mind, Ravenclaws whose names they didn't know.

"Hello," one said, a sweet-looking girl with dirty-blonde hair who reminded Hermione an awful lot of Luna Lovegood.

"Hi there," Hermione replied, she and Draco had both stood at this point.

"We're just practicing for the end of the year recital," a boy with glasses told them. "You can stay if you like,"

"Yes, we're really getting quite good I think," the girl added.

"Uh," Draco glanced at Hermione, trying to see where her next ambitions lie.

"Actually, we both have somewhere to be," Hermione told the Ravenclaws with a kindly, warm expression. "However, I'm sure you play wonderfully,"

"Thanks," the Ravenclaw girl said, and at once her focuses were on polishing up her shiny flute.

Draco and Hermione took this as their opportunity to leave the room and once outside, it'd seemed they both shared a sigh of relief. They both stared at each other for a long moment and finally after a while, neither of them could help but break out in a mirthful fit of chuckles.

-o-

 **AN** : Look, I'm an 80's obsessed freak. I love all of that terrible music that everyone else hates, because to me, that shit is novelty. It's nostalgia and I am one nostalgic bitch, never mind the fact I was only born in '89 – I should have _really_ been there, you know? Regardless, you should check out that song by _The The_. Yes, yes, I know it's a very strange, random choice to have Draco play it but to be honest, this song is known as having one of the best piano solos of all time. The way I see it, if the Music Room has its own little library of compositions then surely Hogwarts would have some obscure, English band's songs, or at least have random ones that other students have brought in over the years. That's the way the cookie crumbles for this fic. Pianist!Draco Sorry if you hate it, but it's too late now.

I hope this chapter found you well, please stay strong. Much love to everyone, thank you for reading :0)


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